


The Study of a Scandal

by Shortsandramblings



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-24 11:10:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4917319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shortsandramblings/pseuds/Shortsandramblings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To him she is the woman. He rarely mentions her under any other name.</p><p>In his eyes, women are another race, strange and unfathomable, and whose true motives and thoughts are impenetrable. And she eclipses and predominates the whole of her sex. I don’t know if it could be said that he has felt any emotion akin to love for her. For most of my life with him I would have stated that he is as inhuman as a calculating machine and is just about as likely to fall in love. All emotions, and that one in particular, are contradictory to his cold, precise but admirably balanced mind. He is the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that the world has seen, but as a lover he would place himself in a false position. He only spoke of the softer passions, as to draw the motives and actions of a guilty party.</p><p>And yet there is but one woman to him, and that woman is her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - A note from a retired smuggler

**Author's Note:**

  * For [No_One82](https://archiveofourown.org/users/No_One82/gifts), [ThatCat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatCat/gifts), [AlesiaG](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlesiaG/gifts), [Gingerpie81](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gingerpie81/gifts), [ShipMaester](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShipMaester/gifts), [spittingfeathers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spittingfeathers/gifts), [Tommyginger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tommyginger/gifts), [Sarah_Black](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarah_Black/gifts), [Jennilynn411](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jennilynn411/gifts), [13oct](https://archiveofourown.org/users/13oct/gifts).



> * I own nothing. Work inspired by GRRM’s work of ‘A Song of Ice and Fire’ as well as being greatly inspired by the two stories: ‘A Scandal in Bohemia’ and ‘The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton‘ by Arthur Conan Doyle.
> 
> * Story's other inspiration was ShipMaester's version of the character of the Mannis working as a detective in 'The Haunting of Stannis Baratheon'.
> 
> * Also wrote this story to be a thank to the people who continually comment/ appreciate my stories (especially those involving Stansa)

 

 

Everyone lies.

 

Although I already knew this from a young age, my long association with _him_ only confirmed this fact further.

 _He_ would agree with this statement. If he were here now, he would probably add that ‘ _it is a basic truth of the human condition that everybody lies, the only variable about what_ ’.

Some think _he_ is a lie; a figment of Dr Pylos imagination. Most of what they read of him is, the rest are exaggerations at best.

 

Though there is always an element of truth.

 

The first truth I have already stated: everybody lies.

The second truth: the truth begins in the lies.

 

For one, Dr Pylos did work with him, even if rarely.

What would be closer to the truth would be to say that Pylos wrote down – ‘romanticised’ as _he_ would call it – my recounting of the adventures I accompanied him on.

Not that I minded at the time, or even now. I couldn’t not well do the writing myself. For the first forty years of my life, which included the time I spent with him, I could not read. How could I possibly put in writing any of my tales if I didn’t even know the basic letters?

Another reason that Dr Pylos wrote the tales and not myself was - and we both firmly agreed on this point - society would censure such a close association between a member of the gentry and a smuggler. To them, there wasn’t much difference between a smuggler and a retired smuggler. - Not that _he_ ever cared what society thought. It is more the fact that Dr Pylos and I cared.

 

In addition to this truth and what you may have already read, all I can say is this: _he_ never sought fame, and was usually content to let the authorities take public credit for his work. He once told me that he ‘ _did not choose this life_ ’; it was only his ‘ _duty to use the gifts the Gods gave him and use them to the best of his ability’_. He only cared about the information that would be relevant to his work, and the solving of the cases brought to him.

It was Pylos’ stories and the consequent articles that revealed his role in these cases. From there his work became well known to the masses. Many clients called on him instead of - or in addition to - the police. As you may already know, these included government officials and royalty. A Prime Minister and the Lord of a one of the Kingdoms visited 221B Dragon Street to request his assistance; the government of Dorne awarded him its Legion of Honour for solving a case; he declined a knighthood ‘ _for services which may perhaps someday be described_ ’; the Bank of Braavos was a client; and he aided the Faith at least twice.

Most omissions or variations were mainly to humanise him, add some elements of fault to make his work more relatable and interesting; to make _him_ more relatable and believable. _He_ even frequently called Dr Pylos out on his writing, describing it more as sensational and populist, comparing it to writing a love story, rather than doing what should be its true intent: an accurate and objective report the ‘ _science_ ’ of his craft. But then again, few would be only truly interested in the cold and unemotional manner in which he actually worked.

As for the matter of his ‘ _one_ _vice’_ ; Dr Pylos gave it to him in his stories. Although I was against it, I understood it as one of the repercussions of wanting to humanise him. Nevertheless, I will state it plainly: the man hated any recreational drug. He was even adverse to the consummation of wine, as it ‘ _dulls the senses’_ and ‘ _can be poisoned more easily than water_ ’. The truth on that matter was that he needed no ‘stimulants’: he rebelled with stagnation, abhorred routine and craved mental exhilaration. All these he got from his cases, not from any drug.

 

Another such reason for the _romanticism_ of Dr Pylos’ stories: his real station.

To the world he is a gentleman, a detective, with only one older brother. The first detail to correct is that he has two brothers. The first is not in civil service but actually a member of the House of Lords. The younger is also linked to the office of Foreign Affairs. It is a mix of his two brothers that allowed him a link to all aspects of the government. However both lacked my mentor’s interest in physical investigation, preferring to spend their time at the Crowland Club, or in one of Lady Tyrell’s dinners parties.

You may think: how is this possible? – The answer: by the simple reason that he is actually the second son of a titled lord. One of the rules of polite society is that a member of the nobility should do nothing more than owning and looking after their land, duty to continue their line, political matters, and going to private clubs. Yet he never had any interest for these or for polite society. As for his true relationship with his brothers; his relationship with his elder brother is strained. I am not sure if this is a result to him proving that his brother’s heir was in fact not from his seed. His relationship with the younger is, to some extent, better.

 

Nevertheless, his true status or his family relations are not the focus of this study.

This is my account of one particular incident that happened not less than five springs ago. In Dr Pylos’ column, he might have narrated it into two very different stories, but I assure you these are entirely and undeniably linked.

More specifically, the many events of this tale are all linked by one particular person.

 

In here comes the object of our study. - _The_ woman.

To him she is _the_ woman. He rarely mentions her under any other name – that is when he actually mentions her.

In his eyes, women are another race, strange and unfathomable, and whose true motives and thoughts are impenetrable. And she eclipses and predominates the whole of her sex. I don’t know if it could be said that he has felt any emotion akin to love for her. For most of my life with him I would have stated that he is as inhuman as a calculating machine and is just about as likely to fall in love. All emotions, and that one in particular, are contradictory to his cold, precise but admirably balanced mind. He is the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that the world has seen, but as a lover he would place himself in a false position. He only spoke of the softer passions, as to draw the motives and actions of a guilty party.

And yet there is but one woman to him, and that woman is _her_.

 


	2. Chapter 1 - A Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The start of a new case.

 

At the time my story starts, I had seen little of Stannis Baratheon.

From Dr Pylos’ own tale, Baratheon(or only known as SB in his chronicles)’s associate had ‘retired’ because he had married. This was partially true: Doctor Pylos had finally married, not fourteen months ago, the lovely young nurse Miss Shireen who assisted him at Baelor’s Hospital. The more accurate reason was that in our last escapade to date, I had nearly been blown to bits by wildfire and my own wife, Marya, had nearly died from the ordeal.

So in the following months, I reacquainted myself with the peacefulness of married life, and being master of my own house. My marriage strengthened, and my wife presented me with our second child, another son, not ten months after leaving the hospital, cured from my wounds. Additionally, upon his return from his honeymoon in Brighton, Dr Pylos had also offered me a position as an assistant to his research at the hospital, mainly doing the heavy duty. The newly Mrs Pylos and himself also started teaching me the letters. In return, I continued to narrate the many adventures Baratheon and I had been on, which Pylos would publish and give me a commission.

In consequence, I had little time for Baratheon, and our relationship drifted. From what I gathered, he continued to bury himself in cases and research, his mind ever active using his astonishing powers of observation and deduction. These occasional bits of news I would receive were never from him directly, but by vague accounts from the many he still called on from the streets and slums of Kings Landing. Dr Pylos would also read accounts in the papers, or have the very rare visit at the hospital – always when I wasn’t there.

 

One night early spring (five years ago), I was returning from helping Dr Pylos with a house call, when my meandering brought me down Dragon Street* and to the once familiar door. I was unable to not feel something my gaze drifted to the four brass characters glowing against the street light and I was seized with an eagerness to see my previous mentor once more, and know how he was currently occupying his active mind. The front windows showed his apartments were still lit and the drapes had not yet been closed for the evening. A tall figure could be noted pacing between the two windows. He was at work again. I rang the bell and was quickly shown up to the chamber which had formerly been a primary setting in my life.

Not stopping in his pacing, hardly a word spoken, he waved me to my previous armchair.

Finally, his mind most likely satisfied with the thought or solution that had gone through it, the pacing stopped; he stood before the fire and looked me over in his particular contemplative way.

"Honest life seems to suits you, I think, Seaworth, that you have put on six and a half kilos since I last saw you."

"Six!"

"Indeed, I should have thought a little more. Just a trifle more, Seaworth. And working in the hospital now, I observe. You did not tell me that you chose to take on the job Dr Pylos offered you."

"Then, how do you know?"

"I observe, I deduce. How else would I know that you have been dealing with pig’s blood and have been seeing Mrs Shireen Pylos?”

"Gods, sir, you never cease to amaze. You would have been the Master of Whisperers, centuries ago. I indeed helped Dr Pylos with a research this morning that required killing a pig and retrieving his heart and blood, but I rinsed myself after. As for Mrs Pylos, I do not know what you are implying, but she is only teaching me the letters, nothing more. That does not change the fact that in both cases, again, I am stumped in how you worked it out."

“It’s simple, as I previously stated: observe, deduce. There is a speck of dried blood on your neck behind your left ear, and another in the hairs of your beard. Yet the blood is not human, so would not be due to shaving. The inside of your right shoe has been scored by six almost parallel cuts. I would assume that they were caused by someone who carelessly scraped round the edges of the sole in order to remove crusted mud from it, almost certainly because he was rushed. However there has been no rain recently and you do not have much chance to leave the city, with now _two_ young children to look after. There are no farms within the walls of Kings Landing. Let’s not forget that you keep yourself too presentable and your beard is too well trimmed for just basic manual labour, and instead of smelling like a butcher shop you walk into my rooms smelling of soap, but there is still a black mark of nitrate of silver upon your right forefinger. The change in clothes would have been required after retrieving the pig, the soap would have been insisted by the good doctor or his nurse-wife after each research experiment, but you were somewhat rushed in the cleaning of your person and your shoes. Lastly there is chalk on your jacket; you are not suitable for any educating profession, yet you have been near a black board. The floral smell I can identify in addition to the soap indicates that it was Mrs Pylos teaching you today and not her busband. - Of course the other obvious information to add is that Dr Pylos had informed me that you had taken the position as his assistant.”

I could not help laugh at the response but also the seeming simplicity of each deduction he had explained. “When you explain, everything seems so simple. Yet I am, as always, baffled by your mind.”

“That is because you see, but do not observe. There is a clear distinction between the two. For example, how often you have come up the steps which lead up to this room?"

“Hundreds of times."

"And how many are there?"

“How many? - I don't know."

“And yet, you have been up them more than a hundred times. You have probably saw the colour of the carpet, noticed that the third and fifth creak as you stepped on them, or noted the slight dip at the very top, upon reaching the landing, but you did not remember. You have not _observed_. That is just my point. Now, _I_ can tell you that there are seventeen steps, because I have both seen and observed. - But you are interested in small mind puzzles, so you might be interested in this."

He picked up a thick sheet of paper from the desk and handed it to me.

"It came by the last post. Read it aloud."

I automatically replied: “I cannot read.”

Huffing, he then stated: “You only let your mind believe you cannot read.” Before insisting: “What do you make of it?”

Taking the paper between my fingers, and silently thanked Dr Pylos for constantly insisting I wash my hands after every experiment he conducted. I carefully examined the paper, by sight and touch: it was thick, pink-tinted. Concentrating, I attempted to mimic my mentor: "The man who wrote it was presumably well off. This paper is peculiarly strong and stiff, couldn’t be less than several stags a packet."

“Indeed. Anything else?”

Encouraged, I brought the paper closer to the light, and my eyes closer to it. Going over Nurse Shireen’s teachings, I recognised the letters at the top of the page: “There is a large ‘ _G’_ , followed by a _‘t’,_ a capital _‘P’_ , and a large _‘C’_ with a small _‘o’_ woven into the texture of the paper. It does not seem to be a word... or words – the initials of the maker?"

Baratheon nodded: "It is not a paper from the Crownlands. There are only two makers that make such thick paper here, but not made from such a material or having this tinge. The 'C' with the small 'o' stands for 'Company'; it is a customary contraction- 'Co’. 'P,' of course, stands for 'Parchment’, thick high class paper. Now for the 'Gt’: of the large production towns in Westeros, only one starts with the letter G: Gulltown, in the Vale.”

Even more intrigued, I asked: “What of the content? The sender?”

With mock-censure, Baratheon replied: “Nurse Shireen should teach you to read faster. - The note is undated, and without either signature or address. As for the content: the letter informs me that I will be called upon tonight, at a quarter to nine. A gentleman desires to consult me upon a matter of great importance and secrecy. Apparently my recent services to one of the Greater Houses have shown that I am one who may safely be trusted with matters of a delicate nature. It adds that I should not be taken aback if my visitor wears a mask.”

Eye brows raised, I remarked: “This is indeed a new puzzle for your mind. What do you imagine it means?"

"I have no data yet. It is a capital mistake to theorize before one has the facts. Inertly, one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of theories to suit facts. But the note itself: it is peculiar, as is its origin. The only knowledge I can say for sure is Gulltown is the sole provider of the Great House of Arryn’s paper, but I have yet to know if this tib-bit of information would useful to discover what is wanted by this Valeian who writes upon expensive Gulltown paper and prefers wearing a mask to showing his face. – Ah... And here he comes, if I am not mistaken, to resolve all our doubts."

Concurring with my mentor’s words, there was the sharp sound of horses' hoofs and grating wheels against the curb, followed by a sharp pull at the bell.

“A pair, by the sound.”

Glancing out of the window, he confirmed: “Yes - A fine hansom cab and a pair of beauties, a hundred and fifty Dragons apiece. There's money in this case, Seaworth, if nothing else."

Feeling that I was superfluous, and possibly even unwanted, I rose: "I think that I had better go, Sir.”

“Nonsense, Seaworth. Stay where you are. This promises to be interesting. It would be a pity to miss it."

"But your client-"

"-Never mind him. I may require your assistance, and your less-honest knowledge of the world. In any case, here he comes. Stay in your armchair, Seaworth, and give us your best attention."

Slow, heavy steps were heard coming up the stairs and hallway, before pausing at the door. Then there was a loud and authoritative tap.

Baratheon spoke in a loud voice: "Come in!"

A man entered, straight as a lance, clean-limbed, and hard with muscle. His clothes were definitely costly; they were of a richness which would, within the capital, be looked at with bad taste. A double-breasted coat, with an intricate field of patterns was half covered by a deep blue cloak lined with white-coloured silk and secured at the neck with a brooch which consisted of a single flying falcon. Boots extended halfway up his calves, were trimmed at the tops with rich brown fur. He carried a broad-brimmed hat in his hand, while he wore across the upper part of his face, extending down past the cheekbones, a black mask, which he had apparently adjusted that very moment, for his hand was still raised to it as he entered. The lower part of the face and the uncovered head allowed one to note a youthful composition and sandy blond hair. When his gaze went from Baratheon to myself, I also noticed deep blue eyes.

In a deep voice, he continued to look between the two of us, clearly uncertain who to address: "You had my note? My visit should have been pre-warned.”

Baratheon answered, not standing from his chair: "Pray take a seat, this is my friend and colleague, Mr Seaworth, who is occasionally good enough to help me in my cases. Whom do I have the honour to address?"

"You may address me as Ser Jasper Waynwood, a gentleman from the Vale. I understand that this person, your friend, is a man of honour and discretion, whom I may trust with a matter of the most extreme importance. If not, I should much prefer to communicate with you alone."

I rose once to go, but Baratheon caught me by the wrist and pushed me back into my chair. "It is the both of us, or neither of us. You may say before this gentleman anything which you may say to me."

The nobleman shrugged his shoulders. "Then I must begin by binding you both to absolute secrecy.”

Baratheon spoke first: "I assure you of our discretion."

I followed: "As do I.”

Continuing, the visitor, fiddled his face-cover in nervousness: "You must excuse this mask, the distinguished person who employs me is adamant that his mediator remain unknown to you, and I may confess the title by which I presented myself is not my own."

Baratheon replied drily: "I was aware of it."

"The circumstances are of great delicacy, and every precaution has to be taken to extinguish what might grow to be an immense scandal and seriously compromise one of the Great Houses of Westeros... To speak plainly, the matter implicates the Great House of Arryn of the Eyrie.”

Looking rather bored, Baratheon murmured: "I was also aware of that.”

Our masked visitor gawked with obvious surprise at the lazed figure of the man who had probably been described to him as the best problem solver and most energetic mediator in the Realm.

Staring impatiently at his client, Baratheon remarked: "If your Lordship would condescend to state your case, it would help in how I would advise you."

At the address, the man sprang from his chair and moved within the room in uncontained agitation. In desperation, he then tore the mask from his face and hurled it upon the ground, crying out: "You are right: I am Lord of the Vale. Why should I try and conceal it?"

Muttering, my mentor agreed with him, as I tried to hide my amazement and humour: "Why, indeed? - Your Lordship had not yet spoken when I was aware that I was addressing Lord Harrold Hardyng-Arryn, newly instated Lord of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale, Warden of the East, when your second-cousin, Lord Robert Arryn, died at the age of twelve, eighteen months past.”

Sitting down, once more, our strange visitor ran his fingers through his blond hair: "But you can understand... you have to understand that I do not usually deal of such matters in person. This matter... this matter is of a particular... so delicate that I could not confide it to an agent without putting myself in his power. I have come incognito from the Gates of Moon for the purpose of consulting you."

Shutting his eyes once more, probably holding his patience, Baratheon encouraged: "Then, pray, consult.”

With a deep sigh, sinking further into his chair, his lordship explained: "The facts are these: some five years ago, during a lengthy visit to my cousin, Lord Robert, I made the acquaintance of his governess, a Miss Alayne Stone. I became interested in her person, and wrote her some... _compromising_ letters, and I am now desirous of getting those letters back."

"Was there a secret marriage?"

"None."

"No legal papers or certificates?"

"None."

"Then I fail to follow you, Lord Hardyng-Arryn. If this young person should produce her letters for blackmailing or other purposes, how is she to prove their authenticity?"

Shaking his head, waving his hands in frustration, the young man explained: “You misunderstood; Miss Alayne is not the one blackmailing me. Lord Petyr Baelish is. And I can assure you, from their content, and from his person, he will have the credibility of them.”

At the mention of the new name, I was surprised by the reaction my mentor gave: his usual scowl turned to a full hard grimace. After a long silence, he stood up and started to pace in front of the windows, Lord Hardyn-Arryn and myself waiting for him to speak:

“Would this governess have given him the letters?”

“Never. It is my belief that he came upon them through the late Lady Lysa Arryn. In the few times I met my aunt, she was known to be infatuated with Baelish. She could have had one of her servants – Marillon, who was devoted to her - to steal the two letters.”

Straightening himself, the Lord of the Vale further explained: “I am to be married in a fortnight to the Lady Margery Tyrell. This fiend has two of the imprudent letters. They would suffice to break off the match. Lord Baelish will send the letters to Lord Mace Tyrell or worse, publish them.”

“What is he asking from you?”

“He has yet to make his demands, but I fear the worst.”

Staring at the fire, Baratheon then asked: “What of the governess?”

“She disappeared shortly after Lord Robert died.”

Looking back at Lord Harrold, Baratheon raised his eyebrows: “And you do not think she is not implicated in this?”

His voice firm, Lord Harrold Hardyng-Arryn replied with certainty: “Miss Alayne would never. In any case, Lord Baelish only contacted me on the content of two of the letters. Others that are in Miss Alayne’s possession were... more... were more _detailed_... And there is the matter of the photograph – she would have used that, in addition to the letters, if she were in some way involved.”

“Photograph?"

"My photograph."

Baratheon waved his hand as if that was not of import: "That could have been a bought photograph."

The man’s cheeks tinged: "We are both in the photograph."

Baratheon scowled at the Lord’s foolishness: "Oh, dear! My lord has indeed committed an indiscretion."

Lord Hardyng-Arryn rose from his chair, insisting: “But Miss Alayne has nothing to do with this. Both her and the photograph are far from Lord Baelish’s grasps.”

After a long pause, Baratheon gave the young man a curt nod as he stood up: “I will speak to Lord Baelish on your behalf and make the best terms I can. One or two matters of importance will also need to be looked into. Your Lordship will, of course, stay in Kings Landing for the present?"

"Certainly. You will find me at the King’s Gate Hotel under the name of the Ser Jasper Waynwood."

"Then I shall drop you a line to let you know how we progress."

"Pray do so. I shall be all anxiety."

"For the matter of money?”

"You have carte blanche."

"Absolutely?"

"I fear it is more than money what Lord Baelish will want from me.”

"And for present expenses?"

Lord Harrold Hardyng-Arryn took a heavy leather bag from under his cloak and placed it on the table.

"There are four hundred Dragons. Hopefully that is sufficient for now.”

Confirming with a nod, Baratheon scribbled a receipt upon a sheet of parchment and handed it to him.

 

 

As soon as I heard the front door shut, I turned to Baratheon: “Who is Lord Petyr Baelish?”

Looking even grimmer, Baratheon sat down and stretched his legs before the fire: “The Lord of Harrenhal; possibly the worst man in Westeros. A viper in the grass, cold and calculating, always waiting for the moment to strike. He is the one of the biggest vipers of Kings Landing, possibly only equated by another, Lord Varys. Unfortunately, unlike the Queen’s advisor, this man has no morals or allegiances to any but himself. I have known liars, adulterers, thieves, murderers in my career, but none of them stirred my insides, repulsed me more than Lord Petyr Baelish.”

 

I had seldom heard my friend speak with such intensity of feeling, as he stood from his chair and started pacing once more:

“He possesses considerable skill in commerce and coin, but it is his skill as a manipulator and a master of intrigue than has gotten him to where he is now. His brilliance matched only by his ambition and his gift for political improvisation. Less so now, but early in his career, many underestimated due to his lower status - a mistake that has come more than once to haunt those who made this assessment.

He is the master of all the blackmailers. The Gods are cruel to whoever’s secrets and reputation fall under his influence. To him the whole of society is but a large game and others are pieces he plays with and moves at his discretion. With a smiling face and a heart of stone, he will squeeze and squeeze until he has drained them dry.

He has many spies within Kings Landing as well as Westeros as a whole, but has also made it known that he is prepared to pay very high sums for information or objects which will compromise those with power and wealth. These informants are a mix of treacherous valets or maids, or frequently from cads, who have gained the confidence and affection of trusting women.

At this date there are many who pale at the mention of his name. - No one knows where his grip may fall, for he is far too powerful and far too cunning to work directly. He will hold a card back for years in order to play it at the moment when the stake is best worth winning.

Not many dare to go against him, for fear of becoming his next victim. If ever he blackmailed an innocent person, then indeed we should have him, but he is as cunning as the Stranger. No, we will have to find other ways to counter him.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *To those who know a bit or a lot about Sherlock Holmes stories, you hae probably guessed the links to their inspired characters (though there will be some difference between the two personalities/characters from their original creations):
> 
> Stannis B: Sherlock Holmes  
> Davos S.: Dr Watson (mixed a bit with Pylos)  
> Sansa S/ Alayne Stone: Irene Adler  
> Dragon Street: Baker Street  
> Harry Hardygn: Wilhelm Gottsreich Sigismond von Ormstein, Grand Duke of Cassel-Felstein  
> Petyr Baelish: Charles Augustus Milverton


	3. Chapter 2 - A matter of a political nature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Baelish

 

 

**\- : -**

 

_Before my tale continues, I feel bound to add more context to the situation Baratheon and I had found ourselves in._

_At the time Lord Hardyng-Arryn requested Baratheon’s skills, five years ago, I had known Baratheon for a little over six years, with the first two still a smuggler. I soon became his ‘protégé’, as he called it, when I showed promise. Our association also deepened when I helped him out of a tight situation involving a man called Redwyne and onions, but that story is for another time._

_In those several years in his service, learning from him, Baratheon rarely talked of his personal life; to the point that I believed he did not have one. This was not a stretch to consider. Sometimes during our partnership, I found myself regarding him as an isolated phenomenon, a brain without a heart, as deficient in human sympathy as he was pre-eminent in intelligence. He clearly did not have a lady of interest. – As stated previously, the idea of Baratheon being interested of a person of the opposite sex is unusual, to the point of being considered fiction. Moreover, he was disinclined to form new friendships; it took him over four years before he called me a friend (and I might have stumbled and fallen fat on my face, at the time when he had first called me such). Moreover, I never heard him refer to any relation, to the point where I had come to believe that he was an orphan with no relatives living._

_Of course this had first changed when I found out about one of his brothers by chance, through a case surrounding a Braavosy Interpreter*. He had just briefly mentioned that his brother had ‘called in a favour’ in the milieu of politics. - This statement in itself at the time had made me do a double take. The mystery was greatened by the fact that_ _it had been left unclear as to his brother’s exact position is in politics was._

_Of course, as you might have deduced, these assumptions were shaken, and corrected, with this story._

 

**\- : -**

 

 

 

Once Lord Harrold Hardyng-Arryn had left, due to the lateness of the evening, SB had requested that I return the next evening, at seven, after my work (and lessons) at the hospital.

When I had explained the situation to Dr Pylos the next day, he had understood to the point of being thrilled that I might have yet another tale to tell him soon.

 

So, the next day, I returned just before seven o'clock, knowing my mentor was a fervent advocate of promptness.

Once inside his chambers, I was met with SB was twirling a card through his fingers, looking at it with disgust. Worried that something had happened, I asked: “Is something amiss – has Lord Baelish already passed? Are his demands that distasteful?”

Grimace still firmly on his face, he replied: “No, the snake will call at six tomorrow evening, on my invitation.”

Sighing, SB sat in his chair before continuing: “I will try and make the best terms I can for Lord Hardyng-Arryn, but I am already prepared for this meeting to not be fruitful on that front. I have only had accounts of Lord Baelish and heard of his _work_ from others mouths, so, for this meeting to not be a waste, I will be using it as a way to size the man up for myself.”

Sitting in my own usual chair, I frowned at my mentor: “Why do you believe the meeting will not be productive in reaching agreeable terms?”

SB scoffed: “There is no much thing as ‘ _agreeable’_ anything when it comes to Lord Baelish. This case will only prove it further. It is my belief that the Lord of Harrenhal plans to use his ill-gotten prizes to advance his political influence and career substantially. Mark my words: he will not deter from it. Lord Harrold Hardyng-Arryn was right to fear the worst; money would be the least of his and the realm’s worries.”

I frowned into further confusion.

Noticing my visage, SB explained:

“Lord Petyr Baelish is from a lower noble family in the Vale. Through certain connections, namely a friendship with the late Lady Arryn and her sister during their childhood in the Riverlands, but mainly due to his scheming nature I mentioned yesterday, Baelish rose through the political ranks and, more out of trickery than anything else, acquired Harrenhal.

Not two weeks ago, Lord Janos Slynt, somewhat abruptly and mysteriously, resigned his seat in the House of Lords. There is to be a vote on his replacement on the 12th of the month, during a general assembly. It is my firm belief that Lord Baelish wants that seat; Lord Hardyng-Arryn support will be included, and will probably be the highest, in his demands. If he does obtain the seat, his influence in matters of government will increase ten-fold, especially if he has several members in his back pocket including a Lord of a Great House. It is safe to say we must act before that comes to pass.”

Understanding the extent of the situation, I nodded in agreement: “I assume that, until now, Lord Baelish did not have the support of one of the Greater Houses?”

“Lord Baelish has a few of the members of the House of Lords under his thumb but no, until Lord Hardyng-Arryn, he had not been able to gain the trust or, the more expected route, any damaging information about the Seven Great Lords, or her Majesty, for that matter.

Lord Varys assists Queen Danaerys in all matters, and helps keep her and many in her close circle from falling under his influence. As for the Great Lords: Lord Tyrion’s indiscretions are so well known, and his wealth is so indispensable to the Realm that he is not easily blackmailed. One has to also point out that even though his lechery is well known to the queen, she keeps him as one of her closest and most trusted advisors.

Dorne has always done things a little differently – their extra marital relations are not hidden, and therefore cannot be used as leverage. As for the rest, it is very well hidden if they do have secrets, for Lord Baelish does not seem privy to them. Let’s not forget that their Princess was married to the late-King thus on somewhat good terms with the queen.

Being one of the more informed about court and Kings Landing politics, none of the Tyrells have any affinity to Lord Baelish. It is important to note that Highgarden has, in the past, come to scraps with Lord Baelish, and their relationship is definitely not an amicable one.

Lord Edmure Tully, in the Riverlands, unlike his sisters, has never been fond of Lord Baelish, and, with the sound advice of his uncle, has kept away from the man.

The Ironborns are somewhat special in the fact that they like no one that isn’t from their islands and no one likes them, thinking them only a little higher than barbarians. Lord Euron just stays on his island as far as the Realm is concerned.

As for the North, after his parents’ death, Lord Stark detached the North even more from the rest of the Realm. Winterfell does some trade with the people beyond the Wall or with Realm and the Free Cities, but for the most part Lord Robb Stark keeps away from most matters not dealing directly with the North. – They have always been more detached, more autonomous, than the rest of the Realm. It helps that his aunt was the late king’s official mistress and his cousin is the Queen’s nephew. Yet, the young Lord does occasionally come to court for important decisions. From the little he follows, I gather that he has mixed feelings about the Lord of Harrenhal. He knows of his mother’s friendship with the man. Yet the late-Lord Eddard Stark did not have the same appreciation for Lord Baelish. With both his parents deceased, Lord Stark sometimes also gets council from Ser Brynden Tully, his great-uncle.”

The expose seeming at an end, there was only the briefest of pauses before I remembered that there was one last Great House: “What of the Lord of the Stormlands?”

At the inquiry, SB shifted in his seat – I had never seen him so uncomfortable. The fidgetiness continued until he brusquely stood up and started pacing around the room.

“The Great Lord of the Stormlands is the Lord of Storm’s End.”

“Yes... from the little I know of politics, and nobles, I know that.”

“But you do not know the House’s family name?”

“No; when you are focusing on finding food for the table, or smuggling goods to survive, you are less focused on knowing which fat-bloke sits on some seat deciding what club he will visit after passing laws that will never really affect me.”

My mentor scowled at my tasteless remark: “The Lord of Storm’s End is Lord Robert Baratheon.”

I gave a small nod, waiting to know what was so important about this last one, and what his opinion was of Lord Baelsih.

Sighing, SB continued: “I am somewhat familiar with Lord Robert by the fact that he is - unfortunately – my older brother.”

 

Now I must say that by then many things had constantly amazed me about SB within our many adventures, none caught me more off guard than this particular statement.

Sputtering, I stood up, then sat down, then realising the extent of the implications of that one sentence that my mentor had revealed, I stood up again, tried to do a bow of sorts: “You are... you are a lord... I mean your lordship... I...I...”

Huffing, Baratheon scowled, his teeth starting to grind, as he indicated the chair I had just vacated: “Seaworth sit. Stop all this nonsense.”

Still stunned, I blabbered: “But you are a nobleman... a lord, the son of a Great Lord...why... how... how is this possible... why do you... why do you do what you do if you have... you must have some properties, servants ... people to call on you.”

“I go to Dragonstone once a year. I have no need for servants, except for my landlady Mrs Cressen, and a life of lord and the social obligations that come with it hold no appeal to me whatsoever.”

My mind was still reeling from the news. “But surely you do not need to work... or stay in such a place... You could... could...”

“I am perfectly content with my life as it is and will leave the lordling to my brothers; both seem rather fond of being on display.”

 

At the statement, I fell silent.

That is, until I remembered a great scandal involving Lord Baratheon a few years back. It had been so great that rare was the person who had not heard of how Lady Cersei Baratheon, or rather Cersei Lannister, had been publicly humiliated, when the Lord of Storm’s End had demanded a divorce and had proved irrefutably that his heir was not actually _his_. - The lady was now one of the most shunned women in the whole of Westeros, hiding in Casterly Rock.

Looking over at my mentor, I gaped: “The Baratheon-Lannister Scandal: that was you... You advised... proved to your brother that he had no true heirs.”

Facing the window, he stiffly replied: “My brother and I are not close, but he is still family. I have a duty to him... Needles to say, my brother did not appreciate finding out he had been cuckolded, but did not ignore the proof I brought to him.”

After another pause of reflection, I ventured: “With the previous scandal, Lord Baelish probably assumes that your brother... that Lord Baratheon will not be easily blackmailed, that he would rather be ready to let it out in the open.”

SB nodded: “Being one of the richest Great Lords and being cousin to the Queen means that several are willing to look over my brother’s many faults. He has already received several proposals for his possible second bride.”

Then another thought occurred to me: “Does Lord Baelish know you... of you?”

SB scoffed: “Baelish probably knew that Lord Hardyng-Arryn would come to me before the young lord did.”

“And does he know of your... family connections?”

“Lord Baelish keeps himself prepared and knowledgeable in all matters to do with the higher classes and lords. He will know of my birth- status; he might hold my family name and ranking against me. However, he will also know of my strained relationship with my brothers and my lack of interest to the life of politics and life of a lord, which will make me seem like a less important piece in his ‘game’. Nonetheless, I assume that my... that Dr Pylos’ recent articles might have intrigued him, and spurred his curiosity.”

 

 

. . . . . . .

 

Upon my friend’s request, I arrived the next evening at SB’s flat at quarter to six, coming through from the service door.

When Baratheon greeted me, I couldn’t help but ask on the subterfuge and even why he had requested my presence for the meeting. – Though I must confess that I was eager to meet this Lord Baelish for myself.

Baratheon merely stated: “He will not know who you are, or your association to me, and that, in itself, will annoy him.”

I nodded in understanding as SB indicated for me to sit in my usual armchair before he quickly went over last minute information to know before the Lord of Harrenhal arrived.

 

A clatter and a rattle in the street below informed us of my mentor‘s visitor’s arrival.

Unable to hold in my trepidation, I joined Baratheon at the window, to notice a stately carriage and its brilliant lamps gleaming over two horses. A footman opened the door, and a short man of slender build, in a fur overcoat, descended. Two minute later he was in the room. By that time, I had thankfully regained my seat.

Lord Petyr Baelish was probably of a similar age to Baratheon - a few years younger than myself – in his late thirties, though there were already threads of grey running throughout his dark hair. One might think him forgettable if it weren’t for a perpetual frozen smile on his face, only marred further by a small pointed beard on his chin. The tableau was completed by two keen gray-green eyes, which gleamed brightly, as they scanned the room.

The fixed smile and the hard glitter of those penetrating eyes focused on Baratheon as he advanced with an extended hand. Baratheon disregarded the outstretched hand and looked at him with a face of granite. At the action – or lack thereof – Lord Baelish’s smile broadened, he shrugged his shoulders removed his overcoat, folded it with great deliberation over the back of a chair, and then took a seat.

His gaze only briefly flickered in my direction, but in that moment I noticed, and in turn so did Baratheon, a slight hesitation, before he turned back to his main interest.

"This gentleman?" said he, with a wave in my direction. "Is it discreet? Is it right?"

Baratheon did not introduce himself or myself, but instead, merely gave a small explanation: "An associate on this matter.”

Piercing eyes landed on me, trying to figure me out before they returned to my mentor.

"Very good, Baratheon. It is only in your client's interests that I protested. The matter is so very delicate." His smile reappearing.

"My associate has already heard of it."

Lord Baelish gave a curt nod: "Then we can proceed to business. You say that you are acting for Lord Hardyng-Arryn. Has he empowered you to accept my terms?"

"What _are_ your terms?"

"Seven thousand Dragons."

Looking rather bored, knowing there was more, Baratheon inquired: “Anything else?”

The man’s smile broadened. – “Clearly you have spoken to your younger brother.”

I did not understand the comment, but Baratheon did not react in any way either. With the lack of a reaction, Lord Baelish continued:

“In addition to the sum, I will require two other things. First: his support. More specifically his support in the coming months, including: his support for my nomination to a seat in the House of Lords, his support in my nomination to Lord Paramount of the Trident, and his support to any correspondence I may have with other Lords of the Great Houses.”

Even though my earlier discussion with Baratheon the previous day had focused on Lord Baelish’s political aspirations, I could help but feel abhorrence for the man’s requests, and how he merely stated them as if they were a shopping list.

Not privy to my thoughts the pointy-breaded man continued: “The second relates to the fact that I have been made aware that the rest of the letters are in Miss Alayne Stone’s possession. –I require for these to be retrieved from her possessions.”

Baratheon’s jaw twitched: “So you can further blackmail my client? You think my client or me so foolish.”

Giving a winning smile, Lord Baelish replied: “No, no, no... of course not Baratheon. Your reputation precedes you; I would not presume to pull the wool over your eyes. I mean for them to be destroyed. But I want to be assured that all ten of them are destroyed: they will have to be destroyed in front of my very eyes – after I check their authenticity of course. The two I have are sufficient in keeping my _friendship_ with Lord Hardygn-Arryn.”

"And the alternative?"

His insufferable smile was more complacent than ever. "My dear sir, it is painful for me to discuss it, but if the three demands are not met by the 15th of next month – my seat in the House of Lord and my nomination to Lord Paramount not supported - Lord Hardygn-Arryn will find himself without a bride, and will probably bring certain attention to his person that he probably will not want.”

Baratheon thought for a little.

At last, he spoke "You appear to me, to be taking matters too much for granted. I am, of course, familiar with the contents of these letters. My client will certainly do what I may advise. I shall counsel him to tell his future father in law the whole story and to trust to his generosity."

Lord Baelish chuckled. “Evidently your brother has not counselled you enough on Lord Mace Tyrell.”

I had been around Baratheon enough to know that he was covering a baffled face. From the hidden expression, I could see clearly see that he had been counselled by his brother.

"What harm is there in the letters?"

Smile still in place, Baelish answered: “I was a guest of my good friend the late Lady Lysa Arryn during some of Lord Hardygn-Arryn’s stay in the Eyrie. Did his lordship make you aware that he pinned after the governess in such an obvious manner; like a simpering puppy at Miss Stone’s heels, following her every step. Let’s just say the letters were even more... _charming_. Lord Hardygn was ever such a _very descriptive_ correspondent. But I can assure you that unlike the rest of court, the Lord of Highgarden would fail to appreciate them. However, since you think otherwise, we will let it rest at that. It is purely a matter of business. If you think that it is in the best interests of your client that these letters should be placed in the hands of Lord Tyrell, then you would indeed be foolish to follow my simple demands."

He rose and seized his fur coat.

 

Gritting, Baratheon stiffly replied: “I will speak with my client, and inform him of your _many_ requests.”

Turning back to face my friend, Baelish’s smile lessened somewhat: "Baratheon, how disappointing; I have been expecting more of a reaction... for you to do something original. Well, at least you did not act like your brother... Like so many he threatened me with violence” he gave a mock shake of the head before continuing: “the worst is when they think that I would be foolish enough to bring the compromising evidence with me...”

After a false solemn huff, the pointy man gave us a small nod of the head: “And now, gentlemen, I must bid adieu, I have one or two little interviews to attend to before this evening ends.”

He stepped forward, took up his coat, and turned to the door. With bow, a smile, and a twinkle, Lord Baelish was out of the room, and a few moments after we heard the slam of the carriage door and the rattle of the wheels as he drove away.

 

Once the noises of the carriage could no longer be heard, I turned to my mentor: “Tell me you do not intend to meet this man’s outrageous demands?”

“Of course not. – as I stated yesterday, this was only a preliminary meeting.”

 

After the statement, Baratheon sat motionless by the fire, his hands buried deep in his trouser pockets, his chin sunk upon his breast, his eyes fixed upon the glowing embers. For half an hour he was silent and still. Then, with the gesture of a man who has taken his decision, he sprang to his feet and passed into his bedroom. A little later a rakish young workman, with a beard and a swagger, lit his clay pipe at the lamp before descending into the street.

"I won’t be back tonight, Seaworth, go home to your wife," said he, before vanishing into the night.

I understood that he had opened his campaign against Lord Petyr Baelish, but little could I have imagined the strange shape in which that campaign was destined to take.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * In the Sir Arthur Conan Doyle stories, Dr Watson finds out Sherlock has a brother in ‘The Greek Interpreter’

**Author's Note:**

> Although I have watched both recent films of Sherlock Holmes with R. Downey Jr and the BBC series ‘Sherlock’, as well as the ‘Game of Thrones’ series, my character, Sansa Stark/Irene Alder, is more based on Sansa from GRRM’s books, and the Irene Alder described by Dr Watson in Arthur Conan Doyle’s short story.


End file.
